she’s what’s wrong.

       ❝   ——— you,   ❞   she speaks not without thinking. with thinking but ill—advised, perhaps. ill—thought out. fading / faded / gone, or should be. the inverse of everything ( she’s everything everything everything ) and thus nothing / empty. devoid.   ❝   you’re missing... parts of the picture. i can find them... if you want,   ❞   vague / transparent. not quite whole.

we only live once... let’s do it

                                                    DÉPÊCHE.

              to the god who sold the world and the god who left lipstick stains on the paper.                                                      happy birthday @deciptur!

        ❝   i’m not the best choice if you need assistance with an assignment,   ❞   a bald—faced lie, but one that he’s lived flawlessly for years. what feels like a never ending eternity. ( does purgatory exist, and does it feel like existence? how melodramatic. ) still, he adjusts the strap on his bag absently, glancing at this strange first year with a sideways look, head tilting, gaze considering behind benign amiableness.   ❝   there are plenty of suitable tutors available, though.   ❞

a smile appears almost unbothered, fingers tapping on the hilt of her sword -- catherine is no stranger to hate, to malice pointed at her face as sharp as metal. it’s usually unasked, a likely repercussion to her devotion, but the scar tissue has built too much over the years and sometimes she wonders if others realize there’s no skin left for wounds. she shakes her head. “ what, you’re going to spit assumptions at me and then leave? but the fun’s just started. ”

hook and dig, for what did a stranger know of her thoughts, her actions? there is almost no point in explaining them: red and angry and twisted, built up and knotted and desperate to not be unwound. “ i can tell this is something personal, ” she says, interlocking her fingers behind her neck, casual in the sharp sheen of her eyes, “ i’ve dealt with your type before. but admittedly it might be the first time someone has been so upfront and misinformed.  ” 

“ i won’t speak for the other knights, but i can speak for myself. ” catherine stands, also, her gaze unflinching. “ you have a strong sense of justice, a good set of ideals, don’t you? but none of that helps on the battlefield. when you’re faced with hard choices, in the spur of the moment, you can’t always hope to be honorable or ‘good’. ” all the reasons convoluted, standing in the mud, barely breathing, blood slick inside her armor and a sword clutched desperately in the palm of her hand -- did anyone have the right to live more than anyone else? “ i don’t claim to be a hero. if the goddess i have given myself up to is evil, then i must be evil, too. i’m just a bloody soldier, but i can’t be weighed down by regret. then all the choices i’ve made, all the blood i have on my hands will have been for nothing. ”

the anger simmers but the exhaustion is heavier, a routine based in a cycle of reasoning, over and over and over. this is not the first time. there will never be a last time. “ you don’t have to agree with my ideals, and i am not asking for forgiveness. it is my duty to take responsibility for what i’ve done in the name of the goddess’ and lady rhea’s justice. ” her expression is marred, all torn and disjointed, but her voice still firm. “ but that is how i’ve chosen to live, even if that means being hated. ” her voice grows soft, the blues of her eyes distant, as if she’s recalling a memory. “ i owe my life to lady rhea, and i will repay it. we all have our reasons. ”